


Beforus

by MsOzma, sonicSymphony, stellaver



Series: Universum Exemplum [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 18:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2239674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsOzma/pseuds/MsOzma, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicSymphony/pseuds/sonicSymphony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellaver/pseuds/stellaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the end of Her Imperial Consolation's reign draws near, she must deal with a new set of challenges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beforus

**Author's Note:**

> The order of the series doesn't matter, but Alternia and Beforus are siblings because they're technically part of one piece written from the Homestuck Shipping World Cup 2014 by Team Eridan<>Feferi. Livinginthesubjunctive on Tumblr did the planet at the beginning, and Msozma, Stellaver, and Sonicsymphony wrote.

 

 **Heiress**  ( _noun_ ): a woman or girl who will receive (or already has received) money, property, or a title from another troll, especially an ancestor, when that troll dies.  
  
You know the definition. You’ve read it again and again during your three sweeps of life, but you’ve never really understood how that designation affects you. Sure, you get to live in a pretty palace under the sea, visited often by a kind lady that looks like an older version of you with long tentacle-like hair and arching, proud fins, but other than those things, you think you have a pretty normal life.  
  
Well, you also get to run the Beforan Empire one day, and you suppose that isn’t commonplace. It sounds so  _exciting_! You’ll give every citizen a cuttlefish so they’ll never get lonely, and you’ll make decrees so trolls won’t be able to hurt each other, and instead of red, the imperial color will be _pink_!   
  
But now, you don’t have to think about commanding an empire. The current empress is still young-looking, so you’ll have to wait a while before you take the post. All you have to worry about is swimming and cuttlefish and seeing every bit of the ocean you can.  
  
Land isn’t one of your favorite destinations, but sometimes you like to play on the beach. Tonight, the air is slightly cool and salty, so you spend a few hours walking in the sand, letting the grains settle between your toes and finding various shells to add to your collection. When dawn is only an hour or two away, you come across a boy standing near the shore, his lusus nowhere in sight. “What are you doing out here alone?” you call, jogging over to stand a few feet away from him. The boy is about your age, with wide fins framing his face. His clothes are slightly too big and he’s wearing big, boxy glasses that are currently sliding down the bridge of his large nose.  
  
After pushing his glasses back up with the palm of his hand, he declares, “I’m gonna make the ocean light up. We just have to wait for the moon to go behind the clouds. Wanna see?”  
  
Scoffing but interested, you say, “How are you going to do that?”  
  
“I’m a sorcerer,” he says smugly, running a thumb over the smooth stone in his palm as he smirks. His eyes are squinty behind his thick glasses, like he still can’t see quite right.  
  
“You’re  _magical_?” you question, putting a dreamy emphasis on that word. You kind of want to believe him, because you have an eye for whimsy and being friends with a wizard could be fun. Just as a large, puffy cloud moves over the moon and the world becomes dimmer, you demand, “Prove it!”  
  
He throws the rock, and it spins through the air for a few seconds before plopping in the ocean with a  _splash_. Immediately, the shockwave it sends out creates a ring of light that spreads across the sea. Even after the wave dissipates, the electric blue glow illuminates the world. The light glimmers faintly off your skin, and your breath catches at the sight as you bounce on the balls of your feet, realizing what it is.  
  
“Bioluminescence!” you exclaim, and you don’t trip gracelessly over that gigantic word; the Empress taught you how to pronounce it. Though sickness had awakened  _your_  ability, now it comes to you on command, so you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing. A little switch in your brain flicks on, and when you open your eyes, circular patches of your gray skin have turned a bright, iridescent magenta. The bioluminescence trails under your eyes, across the tines of your fins, over your shoulders and along the outside of your legs. The light you produce doesn’t even attempt to rival the shimmering coming from the ocean, but you’ve managed to engulf the other sea dweller in a pretty pink glow.  
  
You almost expect the boy to be scared, but he just stares at you, mouth hanging slightly open as his fists unclench. Eventually, he swallows and breathes, “You’re  _magic_.”  
  
“No I’m not,” you laugh, brushing a lock of your hair behind your fin, “I’m just royalty!”  _Hold out your hand for him to kiss,_  the Empress’ voice in your head tells you, and you do just that, despite not really wanting to. “Feferi Peixes,” you introduce, grinning.  
  
He reaches out with his own hand and takes yours, shaking it firmly. “Eridan Ampora,” he says, and you know he doesn’t realize he’s slighted you. That makes something stir in your belly, like a minnow is swimming around in your gastric sac, because you’re not used to being treated like an equal.  
  
That’s when you decide how you want to rule one day, when the current empress is dead and you have all of Beforus at your fingertips. No one will be subservient or cullbait or mistreated—everyone will be equal, just like you and this young sea dweller boy, standing beside a glowing ocean with the pink moon hidden behind the clouds.  


* * *

  
  
You were an heiress, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked and childish. You were full of dreams and hopes of what to make of your throne. But then, they were just that: dreams.  
  
Now, you are an empress like your predecessor, and your dreams are a reality. You are graceful and elegant, but also a caretaker, considerate to even the lowest of castes. Not a dictator, but a partner in life with them, though you will outlive most. After all, what is a ruler but a servant with a crown?  
  
Even towards the end of your rule, you maintain that kindness and radiance towards your people.  
  
However, your heiress… is another matter.  
  
You see yourself in her, to a degree. At three sweeps she too is bright-eyed and covered with freckles, with aspiring ideas for her own reign, but she’s about as much like you as a cuttlefish to a giant squid. The spacious room you gave her in your palace is not as impeccable as it once was. There are books on the floor and drawings on the walls, and it takes everything in you not to heave a sigh.  
  
“Meenah, it’s time for your lessons,” you call, sweeping through the room to tidy up. When no response comes—not even an annoyed demand for you to leave—you glance around. “Meenah?”  
  
Again, nothing, not a sign nor noise other than the currents ruffling the pages of open books. You’re starting to get concerned now; as petulant as she is, she still knows not to run off. She may not abide by it, but she  _knew_  it.   
  
Making plans to have a servant go and look for her, you’re just leaving her room and turning a corner when you find yourself facing someone. You don’t run into them, managing to stop before that, and seeing who it is, you almost laugh with relief.  
  
“Your majesty,” Eridan says, knowing full well he’s being facetious with his formality. You’re sure he would bow, if not for a certain squirming three-sweep-old tossed over his shoulder. “I found this rascal harassin’ a pod of whales and thought you might want her back.”  
  
“I wasn’t harassin’ ‘em!” Meenah shouts indignantly, kicking at him.  
  
“You should know betta,” you reprimand her. “But thank you for bringing her back. I was almost worried.”  
  
He nods his head. “Of course, Fef.”  
  
Not listening to your conversation, Meenah’s writhing intensifies, and she kicks at Eridan’s chest. You’re surprised he’s strong enough to hold onto her. “Let me down before I fork ya, you old coot!”  
  
You can’t help but laugh as Eridan pulls her off of his shoulder and holds her at arm’s length. “Is that anyway to behave?” he asks, mimicking the tone you often used with her. You shoot him an exasperated look and he just wags his eyebrows at you.  
  
“Bite me,” Meenah snarls, worming out of his arms and dropping to the floor.  
  
“Meenah!” you chastise, reaching out and grabbing her wrist before she can flee. “That’s hardly any way to treat him, nor is running off any way to behave. You almost missed your lessons!”  
  
“Your lessons are boooorin’!” she whines.  
  
“Are they? Fine,” you sigh. Keeping your hand wrapped around Meenah’s, you crouch down so you’re at eye-level. “If you’re so obliged, you can skip them today, but no more running off unless someone knows where you are.”  
  
“Reely?” she asks hopefully.  
  
“Yes, reely,” you reply with a smile. “Just prawn-mise me you’ll tell someone when you plan on exploring. Okay?”  
  
“Yeah! Prawn-mise!” Meenah squeals, rocking on her feet. Her smile widens so you can see almost every row of her needle-like fangs, plus a few gaps where she’s lost them, and she tugs her little hand free of your grip, racing back into her block. The door shuts loudly.  
  
You sigh as you straighten up. “Thank you for bringing her back. I worry about that girl.”  
  
“Worry? You?” Eridan asks. “I would’ve never guessed.”  
  
You giggle, swatting at his slightly shaking arm. “She’s barely three and she’s already so… spirited.”  
  
“If I recall, Fef, that’s when I met you, and I would say that you were pretty damn spirited by that point,” Eridan retorts.  
  
“Alright, fair enough.” You shrug. “But I don’t know how to deal with her sometimes.”  
  
“At least she’s not Cro,” he says wearily, and you can’t restrain a snort. You’ve seen his apprentice—a direct descendent of his and, if possible, a bigger personality than your own heiress. “The tyke has aged me beyond my sweeps already.”  
  
And he looks it. Despite your similar ages, he looks much hoarier than you do, with lines appearing in his skin and streaks of pale violet showing near the dark one he already had. “How is he doing?” you ask, looking over your shoulder as a large crash echoes from Meenah’s block.  
  
“His lessons are going well,” Eridan replies, eyebrows shooting up. He cranes his neck to peer at the door. “You should probably check that out.”  
  
“Errr, yeah. We’ll talk later, alright?” you grin, stretching up on your tiptoes to peck him on the cheek.   
  
“Alright,” he responds, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles.  
  
Then you turn away from each other, with you sweeping back towards the door to Meenah’s block as you prepare to face what’s behind it.  
  
Meenah had somehow managed to topple over one of her bookshelves, which irks you, but you’re relieved to see your heiress hadn’t been crushed. You linger in the doorway, seeing Meenah standing amongst the mess of books and a fallen shelf, and the little girl smiles. “It was an accident, I swear!”  
  
You can’t help but smile back, thinking this would not be the last time she would be running off.

 

* * *

  
  
The news comes to you not by finding Meenah’s block ransacked and empty after a particularly heated argument between the two of you—though you find that after the fact—but by a blueblooded girl. She’s six sweeps old, short-haired and timid in your presence, almost the exact opposite of a blueblood you once knew.  
  
But despite her diffident stance, she approaches you on your throne with her head lowered and arms folded in front of her.  
  
“Your Imperial Consolation, my name is Aranea Serket,” she says. “I hesitate to say that I am the bringer of grim news. Your heiress and my friend, Meenah, has…” She trails off, and your anxiety builds in the silence. “She’s fled, your majesty. I cannot put it any better.”  
  
You rise to your feet in a simple sweeping motion, your double-headed trident left in its stand by your throne. Aranea flinches as you step towards her, but you simply place a hand on her shoulder.   
  
“She told you?” you ask.  
  
“Yes, your majesty,” she replies. “She’s taken a ship, though to where, I don’t know.”  
  
You nod, more yourself than to her. Thinking of the past three sweeps since Meenah first tried running off, you’re anything but surprised. “I see. You may go.”  
  
Aranea complies, scurrying out of your throne room. With her gone, the space is empty save for you, and you sigh wearily as the gravity of the situation settles in.  
  
You’ve failed as an empress, at the final duty being to raise your heiress to take after you when your reign ends. You cannot leave Beforus without an empress, but at this point, you don’t know what to do when that time comes.  
  
Your head is swimming when you sit down, trying to think of a way to amend this situation. You are the empress, after all. Isn’t it your duty to take care of these situations?  
  
You pull open a window on your crowntop. Man, you haven’t used this thing in forever. You message Eridan, telling him to get his butt over here, and he says he’ll be right over. That does little to console you, so you close Trollian. A comfort, however, is that it takes barely five minutes before Eridan is striding in. Actually, it’s not so much of a stride as a hobble, but you hardly notice, wasting no time in reaching forward and grabbing the front of his cape informally; at the moment you don’t care about propriety.  
  
“Meenah’s run off to who knows where,” you tell him. “And I don’t know what to do.”  
  
Eridan blinks a few times. “Hang on, what?”  
  
“Just that,” you say. “This ceruleanblooded frond of hers told me. I don’t know where, just that she took a spaceship. Do you have any idea how awful this is?” You know you’re being hysterical, reacting to this far more than an empress should, but you don’t know what to do. At six sweeps, you  _were_  rebellious, but you’re certain you would never try to  _run away_!  
  
Your head is swimming with thoughts and worries; all of that comes to a stop as Eridan reaches out and places a hand on your cheek, papping it like you were still a wiggler.  
  
That might be just what you need. It prompts you to stop, take a breath, and start to think rationally. It would be a simple matter to check the logs of the crafts that have left the Beforan atmosphere, and she couldn’t have gone far. Crafts that could avoid detection are small and not very fast.  
  
“Thank you,” you say, and with your clearer mind, you start to notice how  _exhausted_  he looks. His face is streaked with more lines than you remember and his hair is more faded violet than black. You always knew he has a shorter lifespan than you do; compared to him, you’ve hardly aged. You feel something settle within, along with the knowledge of Meenah running away: dread.  


* * *

  
  
After many weeks, you have to accept that Meenah perhaps would never return. The thought of what she might be doing and what sort of chaos she would be creating in her wake is troublesome. Sunsets cycle into sunrises, and soon it becomes difficult to focus on the imperial tasks you have before you. Decisions that were once easy to make became things you questioned and pondered for days, and after a while it felt as though nothing you were doing was right.  
  
The choice you make about Meenah is a hard one. Asking a mere child—with a warmer hue than yours, of all things!—to do such an important task was simply out of the question at first. As time wore on, you realize it’s your only option.  
  
“Are you  _shore_  you can do this?”  
  
You try to sound as kind and benevolent as ever, but your tone is weighed with worry and fatigue. The young, unassuming Aranea Serket stands before you, seeming more at ease with the situation than you are.  
  
It’s... unnerving.  _You’re_  the one who should be the calming presence for others, not vice versa. And it doesn’t help that Eridan is  _nowhere to be found_. You are only slightly concerned where he might be, and hope he has good reason for not being around, or else you two will be having  _quite_ the talk later.  
  
“Not at all!” Aranea says brightly, seeming to brush right past your anxious mind with her own bubbliness. “I’ve known Meenah for some time, and I can watch her just fine. After all, I’ve essentially been doing that since I first met her!”  
  
The last sentence aggravates you more than you’d like to admit because you are the one who’s supposed to be taking care of Meenah, not her. But you also realize Meenah trusts her more than she trusts you (even if Meenah herself may never admit that), and you also realize Meenah would  _never_  let Aranea tell you where she is.  
  
However, occasional updates on Meenah’s wellbeing is a better bargain than not knowing at all. You swallow your damaged ego as best you can and put on your best smile.  
  
“Good!” you say. “I hope to have a status report once every season… if that’s not too much for you to  _handle_.”  
  
You feel you must add that last comment—after all, she isn’t any older than Meenah. It doesn’t feel right to let someone younger and with a status much lower than yours to fight your battles for you.  
  
You’re not sure, but you think you notice her wince for some reason. But it happens so quickly you assume it’s your imagination.  
  
“Absolutely,” she tells you, still smiling as widely as ever.  
  
After that, you give her further instructions—to contact you and you alone about her status, what trollhandle she should contact, every last detail you can conjure. Soon, you’re sending her off, and you’re left alone to go back to your imperial duties. You thought having Aranea watch over her for you would be enough to ease your stress and allow you to run the empire like you’re  _supposed_  to be doing. Disconcertingly, Meenah remains in your thoughts, and you still feel like you’re at an absolute loss for what to do.  
  
Running an empire seemed so easy back when you were a child. Preach kindness, compassion,  _equality_ … and ensure those who were not considered equal were seen as such by taking care of them. Why did you find yourself second-guessing what seemed so  _obvious_  then?  
  
Your thoughts are interrupted when an imperial guard runs in, out of breath and with wild, wide eyes.  
  
“The  _Sorcerer_ …” she manages breathlessly, and you almost completely  _forgot_  about Eridan in your own worries.  
  
“Is he here now?” you ask the guard. “Please have him come and see me—”  
  
“He collapsed in the courtyard!” she blurts out. “He…he was bleeding from the mouth!”  
  
And in an instant you know your expression is matching hers. Eridan. Elderly, ailing Eridan. You  _know_  he’s getting old, but he’s assured you he has _sweeps_  left…  
  
“Where is he?” you demand in a tone you hardly  _ever_  use.  
  
“We have placed him in the infirmary,” the guard responds.  
  
“ _Show me_.”  
  
Without another word, the guard leads you out of the block and toward your moirail’s location.  


* * *

  
  
The collapse is just the beginning of the end for the Sorcerer.  
  
For another sweep, Eridan has to stay bed-ridden—walking simply takes too much energy out of him. This doesn’t stop him from wandering around in the halls, mumbling enchantments and prophecies you don’t understand. You try everything possible to keep him in his bed, but somehow he always ends up getting lost and being found in hidden corridors.  
  
He also has to discontinue the training of his young descendant, who doesn’t even  _try_  to visit him. This doesn’t surprise you, knowing what Cronus is like. He probably considered flying the lusus he inherited from his ancestor to come see him, but then saw a new enchantment book to read (or a potential person to court) and forgot about it.   
  
You deliberate having Aranea tell Meenah of his ailing health—she might come see him out of pity and sympathy—but you ultimately decide against it. Meenah doesn’t seem to have enough room in her body for those feelings.  
  
One night, you find Eridan not in his usual hiding spots, but fainted outside, sun bearing down on his back and with blood leaking from his gills. You shriek for the guards while you pick him up and help carry him to his respiteblock. When he’s finally cleaned up and settled in, the medical drone taking care of him tells you what you don’t want to hear.  
  
“He doesn’t have much time, Your Consolation. He could pass away before sunset tonight.”  
  
The composure you normally carry yourself with—which had been slowly slipping away since Meenah left—chips a little more as you fold both of your hands together. You’re afraid to move or speak for fear of breaking down, but you take a deep breath and manage something. “Can I stay with him?”  
  
“Of course,” the medical drone allows.  
  
You take a chair next to him and sit there frozen for an incalculable amount of time. You don’t touch him, for fear that a single movement could mean the end of his breathing. You also want to remain still in case he wakes up in the middle of the night and needs you to take care of him. Though… how could you possibly do that when you’re so sure you’ll start wailing any second?   
  
No. You won’t even  _think_  of crying. You are the Empress, and it’s your duty to care for others when they can’t or won’t care for themselves. Isn’t that what equality is supposed to be?  
  
…So why does this feel so  _hard_?  
  
“ _Fef!_ ”  
  
His head feebly raises off his pillow only to fall backward, unable to be forceful in his awakening. Seeing him so frail is almost unbearable enough to make you want to keep as quiet as possible, to hide and  _not_  have to deal with him like this.  
  
It is only out of instinct that you finally speak timidly. “…I’m here, Eridan.”  
  
His head turns to the sound of your voice, and when he looks upon you, his eyes start welling with violet tears. “Oh, Fef…” he says, his voice raspy and weak. “I thought…I thought you  _died_ …”  
  
You’re startled to hear this. How could he possibly be crying for your death when you are so close to crying for his?  
  
“I’m not dead,” you explain to him, and already you hear your voice shaking. You force a smile, hoping it will steady you. “How could you think something so  _silly_ , you guppy?”  
  
“I…” he trails off, as if unable to find his words or senses. But he can certainly find his tears, since they seem to be coming to down with reckless abandon. “I don’t know. But…could you lay with me? So… I know you’re  _real_?”  
  
You gulp. You don’t know if you can lay next to him and pretend you’re strong enough to take this.  
  
But as more tears come out of his eyes, you can’t stop yourself from nodding.  
  
You get up from your seat and gently lay down next to him, positioning yourself so he can use your chest as a pillow. His arms go around you, holding onto you for all the life you have that he doesn’t. With one hand you grasp his arm laying over you, and with the other you begin stroking his hair. As you feel the texture of his wiry, thin strands—which once used to be so  _full_  and  _thick_ —you consider humming a melody to him, to make his passing easier, but when you begin to purse your lips, a non-melodic tone is what comes out.  
  
You choke a sob. In mere seconds, you’re crying along with Eridan. The two of you keep weeping until finally, he falls limp in your arms.  
  
Then you’re the only one who has tears to spill.  


* * *

  
  
You’re still awake when the sun sets and stars begin to dot the skies. Medical drones comes in, and with one look at your puffy, tear-stricken face, they know Eridan has passed. You reluctantly pull yourself away from your moirail’s body as they take him, perhaps to prepare him for cremation. His ceremony will certainly be a grand occasion—one fitting for a man who means so much to you.  
  
“Your Highness,” a drone begins, “you should rest. Or do something to get your mind off things.”  
  
But of course thinking of anything else is a difficult task.  
  
For a while throughout the day you simply grieve, confined in your respiteblock. But as the numb thoughts fade, you realize you’ll  _have_  to start telling others about it—after all, the news of his death will mean nothing without a royal announcement.  
  
But even after more time passes, the only person you can talk to is Aranea, mainly so she can tell Cronus and Meenah. She acts strange when you message her with your crowntop, but your mind is too worn and tired by fatigue and grief to care.  
  
You find yourself gazing at the sky from your window. You see a plethora of what you assume are falling stars, and you can’t restrain your urge to make a wish on them. It’s strange to think that eons ago, you wished on falling stars with your moirail. With him gone, it feels…pointless. Like an ocean without fish. Even though you still have an empire to run, all of your will to run it is gone.  
  
Wasn’t it something you always wanted to do? To be a beautiful and wonderful Empress? To create a world of benevolence and peace, where those more capable can care for those incapable?  
  
Wasn’t that what you always  _wished_  for?  
  
But at this moment, you don’t want those dreams, nor need them. As you close your eyes, you focus on a wish that has nothing to do with anyone else.  
  
You simply wish for Eridan back.  
  
When you open your eyes, you’re shocked at the large falling star not far away. As it nears with greater speed, your eyes widen in horror with the realization of where it’s going to land.  
  
Just as you turn to warn everyone, the meteor’s explosion envelopes you and the palace.


End file.
